There is a slight difference between finding happiness, and being made happy.

Unfortuantely, there are only so many words you can use to describe these feelings, to the point of saturation, and the danger of sounding like a broken record and repeating yourself. A point, I suppose, which is amply demonstrated by the same tired cliches and oft-repeated emotional outpourings that this blog has been witness to (and that of its predecessor).

However, the emotional maturity needed to properly differentiate between what's old and new, between what's original and what's merely a re-hash of a bygone fantasy and longing, is not always in evidence when you need it.

And this is where I find myself, with you.

The same old words come out, and the same old tried-and-tried-again utterances find their way on to these pages. Yet, I suppose, I have not found any adequate way to properly encapsulate these feelings. Not since I suffered the emotionally-stunting loss, from the death of my first love when I was 14, nearly 9 years ago. A scar which I'm not sure will ever actually heal.

You know the story, since I told you about her, and some of the moments I shared with her, as well as some of the moments I recorded in these pages. Memories, they are. Difficult, and painful ones. It doesn't help that her grave is less than a minute form my house, and I pass it every single day.

But I digress. I have tried to push you away, after all, yet you do not wish for me to do so. It is strange, to be in that position. To be forcibly shaken into realising the responsibility that is at hand. Difficult, and alien to deal with. As my detractors are more than willing to admit, I am usually ambivalent, or uncaring, when it comes to the subject of people needing me around, or my supposed help.

Put it this way. I don't want to be held accountable for holding up the ceiling, to prevent its collapse. But I want to be the one who's told to hold it up. Bend your head around that one.

So where do I put you? I guess I know where. As do you. Need anyone else know? Of course not. Because this is the last time I'll be writing about you on these pages. It's time to stop the emotional rot and the accumulated bloat of years of emotional immaturity.

Let's start over.

Hey, I'm nuts and almost impossible to comprehend or have sympathy with. (= What about you?

That's not to say I would never write about another girl ever again. Because if I do, she would definitely not be you. ;) Have a great holiday, and don't forget who's waiting for you at home.